Lazy Mornings
by skybound2
Summary: When Dean was younger, he thought admitting to a need as basic and universal as having someplace safe and warm to rest would make him seem weak; less capable. Thankfully, he's older now, and a whole lot less idiotic. (Having 1,200-thread count sheets and someone to share them with doesn't hurt either.) / Written for the "All I Want for Christmas is Drowley" exchange.


**Author's Note:** My day 2 submission for hekate1308 for the "All I Want for Christmas is Drowley" exchange was sort of inspired by the "Keeping Warm by the Fire" prompt, though there is no fire to speak of. (Oops.) This one takes place in a post-S12 world where Crowley's back as a human and is a bit of a sap-fest with no plot to speak of.

Hope you Enjoy!

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It's warm beneath the thin covers of Dean's bed. Between the furnace like body heat put off by the man wrapped around him, and the way the memory foam retains and reflects it back, there's no need for anything more than the single cotton sheet (Egyptian, 1,200 thread count - a splurge purchase Dean made when he'd gotten the mattress, and has been thankful for every night since) they have draped over them.

His companion used to prefer silk, or satin, on those rare occasions he would deign to sleep at all. But now? Now he seems to be in agreement with Dean that the caress of softly woven cotton against his skin has its own little pleasures.

It offers a comfort, a feeling of _home_ that Dean has had a need for all his life, even when he'd been too stubborn to admit it; afraid it would make him seem weak, less capable. As if owning up to a feeling as basic and universal as the need for rest in a place you feel safe and warm would somehow make him _less_.

Thankfully, he's older now, and a whole lot _less_ idiotic.

Which in turn, has translated to being a whole lot happier.

So really, in balance, the aging thing has been a win.

(He could do without the backaches though. That part of aging _sucks_.)

Eyes still closed, he tucks his head down until his nose is brushing against the hair at the top of Crowley's head, enjoying the way it almost tickles. Without any sort of thought, he presses his lips to Crowley's brow, the furrowed lines Dean has come to know so well when the man is awake, all but missing while he sleeps.

Crowley makes a soft little 'hmming' noise, his body pressing just a fraction closer, but doesn't wake.

Dean squeezes the arm that he has wrapped around Crowley in response. There's a light sensation of pins and needles beginning at his shoulder, so he knows he's going to have to move the limb soon. But for now it seems worth it to wait it out, so he doesn't have to move.

His lips hover, ghosting back and forth against Crowley's eyebrows, down towards the bridge of his nose for a few moments as sleep tucks itself around Dean once more.

When it next recedes, he can't feel his one arm at all, so he shifts his body down and onto his side, pulling his sleeping appendage out from the bulk of Crowley's chest, and letting it slide beneath the pillow at his head instead. Crowley grumbles out a complaint, something along the lines of 'Stop fidgeting, Squirrel' but goes easily enough with the movement. Their laying face to face when all is said and done. Their legs tangled at the ankles, Crowley's one hand resting heavy against Dean's outer thigh, and Dean's free arm pressing against Crowley's back; their faces level with one another, foreheads just touching.

Crowley's nose twitches against Dean's. Once, twice, three times. He mumbles out the word 'itches' before reaching up and scratching at it, his hand dropping down over Dean's arm when he's done, rough fingers skirting down until they're loosely holding his elbow.

The whole thing makes Dean smile a stupid, lighthearted smile.

He keeps his eyes closed though, to encourage the peaceful atmosphere to linger a bit longer.

Mornings like this are a luxury that Dean doesn't get that often. None of them do, really. And he knows that it can't last. That there's work to be done. (When isn't there?) But with no immediate cries for help, Dean's happy to just bask in the moment.

See? He's grown as a person. He _basks_ now. It's a thing.

Half smile still in place, Dean presses his lips to Crowley's, just a light flutter at first. Pleased when Crowley makes that 'hmming' noise again, and presses back.

"…Time's it?"

"No clue. Early. Sam's not stomping 'round yet."

"Hmm. Good." Crowley's voice is rough with sleep. It sends a curl of affection through Dean. He wraps his arm around Dean's waist, holding him close in a way that makes all the muscles in Dean's body go lax.

Crowley presses his mouth to Dean's this time, pulling Dean's lower lip in with soft suction.

They go on like that for another minute or two. A gentle ebb and flow of lips gliding against one another, lazy and unhurried. Little puffs of air shared between them. The kissing slowing down in time with sleep rolling over them again.

That's okay though. For once, Dean knows there's no real rush. No real reason to push and claim and take the things he wants before they're ripped away from him. They can take the time. Sleep in. Holding one another in a way that would have been unthinkable to Dean a year ago.

But a lot of shit can happen in a year. Dean's life is basically a chapter by chapter illustration of that.

So in the grand scheme of things? Sure, Crowley dying only to be brought back to life months later as a human was huge.

But him and Dean figuring their shit out and owning up to what was between them?

…Yeah, okay, that was also pretty huge.

Fine. _Whatever._

But this? Now? In the aftermath of all of that, where they are happy, and home. Warm and safe?

That may be the biggest deal of all.

Dean's well aware that it could all go belly up one day. With the lives they lead, it almost seems inevitable.

But it doesn't seem worth it to dwell on the what ifs. On the futures that could, but may never, come to pass. So in the meantime? Dean's going to take all of the lazy, kissable mornings he can get.

Crowley stirs, his hand trailing up Dean's spine to leave a tingling trail in its wake, before carting his fingers through the hair at the base of Dean's neck, and pulling him into a deeper, more thorough kiss that Dean is all too happy to sink into.

It's not a bad way to wake up, far as Dean's concerned. In fact, Dean thinks this might just be his new favorite way to wake up.

His eyes slip open when their lips pull apart, and he finds Crowley staring back at him, eyes heavy lidded but warm, and a smile gracing his face just on the right side of sappy. It makes the crows feet at the corners of his eyes all the more apparent.

He's pretty sure that Crowley agrees.

~End


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